Two Halves of a Whole
by Dreamnorn
Summary: When Russia and China were young, they shared a secret passion and friendship... until the Sino-Soviet Split occurred. But when America decides to host a talent show, Ivan tries to reignite their relationship with a familiar, unspoken question. RoChu.
1. Prologue

_Hello there, Hetalia fandom! How are you guys doing on this fine summer day? I swear, this has been the coldest summer I, as a southern Californian, have ever experienced. What's with all the clouds? Better yet, what's with all the unbelievably cold rain? I bet the weather is PMSing or something._

_But you didn't click that link for small-talk… I'm going to be totally psychic and predict that you came here for a story. Stories? On this website? Unthinkable._

_I suppose I could give you a little something to read, then. This may just be a oneshot, or I might continue—I'm not sure. It's centered mainly on my favorite character, Russia, and is based on an interesting dream I had the other night. I would go on a rant about how awesome he is, but I hate long author's comments and that makes me a hypocrite. Yay me._

_One thing to note: this takes place before Bloody Sunday.__ Enjoy!_

**EDIT: Whoops! For 45 minutes or so, I had the wrong story up (I went to correct a spelling error and posted up the wrong file by mistake). Special thanks goes to _Kiki4ever_ for catching that! I'm glad it was caught and fixed early.  
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Prologue

A young Ivan was walking along the icy tundra, the snow and slush crunching beneath his thick boots. In spite of the terrible cold weather that was a staple of Russian winters, the boy hardly paid it any attention, aside from a small sniff of acknowledgment. He much preferred warm climates to cold ones, but was it his fault that his country was so far north? Ivan had been blamed for many things in the past, but he figured that some things he just couldn't help. He wasn't a magician.

After all, he had a purpose for wandering so far away from home and to the permafrost-covered, southeastern regions of his country. As much as he loved his older sister Ukraine and the recently-discovered baby Belarus, some things just needed to be done on his own. The fact that soft, glittering flakes of snow had begun to fall was a fortunate bonus. No one could hear him.

Perfect.

Noting the snow's graceful movements, Ivan watched it swirl down, bop up, and down again. Hesitantly, the youth crossed his arms over his chest, his scarf brushing against his sleeves, and he dropped into a half-crouch. With an upright torso and determination gleaming in his violet eyes, Ivan took a quick breath and rapidly kicked his right foot out.

Immediately imbalanced, Russia quickly tried to pull his foot back in, his body perilously shaking from the strain of retaining his position. With a cry, a thud, and a loud "oof," Ivan landed hard on his back in the snow.

_I am most thankful that the snow is at least soft,_ the youth muttered in his head. Although he was smiling on the outside, trying to brush off that beginner's mistake, inside he sighed, _Well… thirtieth time is the charm._

Bringing himself to his feet, Ivan tried to do that movement once again. In order to hopefully maintain his balance, he brought his foot out more slowly…

The pain was unbearable. Whimpering, Ivan drew it in even quicker than last time, causing him to fall over again.

Instead of getting up, Russia let out the breath he was unknowingly holding. His eyes traced the snowflakes as they skated in slow-motion to the ground. As much as he disliked the cold, Ivan could not help but find every unique crystal of snow to be a thing of beauty.

_What am I doing wrong? _He wondered, his mindset not quite as optimistic as before. _This is impossible. I'll probably never get that move down._

The momentary frown that threatened to turn into outright tears disappeared when Ivan put on a paper-thin smile. He pounded a fist on the hard, somewhat soggy ground and thought, _But then again, what have I got to lose? No one is here but me._

Standing up, Ivan came to the conclusion that harder moves such as those ought to be practiced after mastering more simple sets. With a deep breath to calm himself down, the young boy kicked his right foot forward and brushed it back. As he hit the front part of that foot on the ground, his left foot kicked forward and followed the same motion. Moving his arms in a jazzy fashion, Ivan quickly caught on to the rhythm and began to move faster as his accuracy improved, clapping his hands every second or two. Delighted, Ivan began to hum to a song his sister would sing whenever she went out to farm—an upbeat tune that filled Ivan's heart with joy and drive to pursue his dreams.

When he knew no one was watching, Ivan was a passionate dancer. He discovered his odd captivation in physical movements after seeing Ukraine move in time to songs she would play when she worked. It wasn't long before he wanted to try it on his own, but after some rather embarrassing failures at home, where his sisters could watch and laugh at him if he messed up, Russia came to the conclusion that this sort of thing was best practiced in solitude. After all, in his mind, to dance like no one's watching is to let your soul fly free.

Eventually, Ivan began to twirl and spin on the tips of his toes, dancing in circles with his hands in the air. Whenever he danced, Ivan felt he could truly be himself. Accidentally slipping on the snow only made Russia chuckle all the louder. Exhausted from the strain of exercising in cold weather, he gently sat down, giving the sky a genuine smile as he took deep breaths and hugged his scarf.

_I think I'll try the next move again._

Nodding to himself, he sat up into his more-difficult position and tried to do the kick again. Several times he gave it a good effort, and all with the same result—losing balance and falling backwards into the snow. The more he tried, it seemed, the steadily unhappier he became. After fifteen falls, Ivan couldn't believe he hadn't made a permanent indentation into the ground yet.

Frustrated, Ivan stood up. _One more try. C'mon, Braginski. You can do it._ Growling slightly, Ivan gave the kick one more attempt…

…and collapsed on his side, landing heavily and gracelessly on his hand.

The crushing pain brought small tears to Ivan's eyes as he choked back a moan. He didn't try to get up, instead choosing to stay in the cold snow bed. What was the use? He couldn't do it. He would never be able to do it.

"Are you okay?"

Ivan practically choked on his spit at the sudden voice. Sitting up in the snow, he quickly turned his eyes to another boy that was coming out from hiding behind a few of the southern trees. He had unusually long, dark-brown hair that was tied to a ponytail in the back, and he was wearing a red and gold robe that appeared too big for him. His light-brown eyes met Ivan's purple ones, and immediately the young Russia felt heat being driven towards his cheeks. His heart pounded at the sight. In his young life, Ivan had never imagined a boy could look so… _pretty._

Remembering that it was impolite to stare in company's presence, Ivan shook off his acute discomfiture and put on an awkward smile. "I-I am fine, da." Trying to ignore his embarrassment, he asked, "Who are you, exactly?"

The other boy gasped as if he had lost his manners, and he bowed quickly before Russia. "My apologies, aru. My name is China, but you can call me Yao. Yao Wang. Or Wang Yao, if you go by surname first." Yao looked a little ashamed as well. "Forgive me, aru, I did not mean to startle you."

_What an interesting accent! So he is a country too?_ Ivan shakily stood to his feet, ignoring a minor pain in his left leg and the intense throbbing in his hand. "It's okay, da. It's just… I didn't expect anyone to be watching. How long were you standing there?"

"I… sort of followed you, aru," Yao confessed. "When I saw you walking here earlier, I mean. I guess I watched the whole thing," Ivan couldn't tell if Yao's cheeks were pink because of the cold or out of embarrassment at being caught. "I'm very sorry, aru. It was foolish to let my curiosity get the better of me. I will not follow you again."

Ivan just smiled at him and walked a little closer to Yao. The snow that was landing on his dark hair made it look as if it was bejeweled with glittering diamonds. Russia was tempted to tell him that he thought Yao was pretty, but decided against it. He did not know how other boys behaved, but if _he_ were called pretty, Ivan would not have been too happy—and the last thing he wanted to do was upset this interesting outsider.

"You do not have to apologize so much," Ivan grinned, honesty shining in his eyes. "I wouldn't have done those things if I had known, da." Mimicking Yao's bow, Ivan said, "My official title is Russia, but if I am to call you Yao, then you may call me Ivan Braginski. The surname comes last here, da."

Yao nodded, his eyes softening slightly. China tentatively smiled, much to Ivan's comfort. In a whisper, he murmured, "It's a pleasure to meet you, aru. Say… what _were_ you doing, exactly?"

Either his cheeks were unusually warm today, or Ivan had never felt more embarrassed in his entire life. Being caught dancing by this pretty stranger suddenly seemed a million times worse than being caught by either of his sisters. With a small smile and a blush, he scuffed his foot on the ground and hesitantly mumbled, "…Dancing… sort of. It's nothing, da. Just a hobby of mine."

"Really?" Yao gave Ivan a curious look, tilting his head. _Oh, mercy,_ Ivan thought, _he probably didn't think that looked like dancing at all. He might insult me. Or worse, laugh at me._ The notion of someone as pretty as Yao laughing at him for his guilty pleasure hurt his little heart.

Instead, China beamed, "Wow, aru… you're amazing!"

Ivan practically fell backwards in surprise.

What?

What was that?

A compliment? On his dancing?

He must have been hearing things.

"W-what's amazing?" he burbled, trying to process what Yao had just said.

"Your dancing. It's amazing, aru! I wish I could dance as well as you!"

Russia smiled so hard he thought his jaw would break. "Da, you mean it?"

"If I didn't mean it," Yao chuckled, "I wouldn't have said it. I am not a natural liar, aru."

Ivan's smile fell a little. _But… if he was here the whole time… he must have seen my failures._ Aloud, he sighed, "My dancing is not amazing, da. I assume you saw me attempting to do the more difficult moves? That was when I fell… repeatedly…."

_And painfully,_ he added in his head.

The boy smiled. "Perfection is not something you should strive for, aru. Nothing is perfect. You are the best dancer I have ever seen, aru," Yao smiled. He began to pace closer, so close that Ivan could very easily pull him into a hug. Circling him, Yao put a hand on each of Ivan's shoulders. The contact made Russia jump, his face redder than China's robe. He pushed down on Ivan a little bit, so that his knees were bent, but the sole of his foot remained on the ground. "I think you might have been kicking too low. If you practice from this more reasonable height, then it might make that move-set easier, aru. Give it a try."

Ivan hesitated as Yao circled to face him in the front. The Asian's glimmering brown eyes were so hopeful, expectant… Ivan couldn't stand to let him down. He had to try again, even if dancing in front of others was a scary thought. Taking in a sharp breath, Ivan crossed his arms over his upright torso and kicked his right foot out, bending down his other knee at the same time. To his surprise, when he pulled his foot back, he easily shifted to kicking his left foot in the same way.

Ivan blinked, tentatively continuing the new cycle. In moments, he had the movement locked in his memory. Beaming, he breathed, "I did it?"

Yao grinned, "Yes, aru! You're doing it right!"

Ivan had never felt more ecstatic. He eagerly began playing with this new move, tapping the back of his heels together between kicks, jumping around, moving forward and backward in time. Yao smiled. The dancing Russian's unfiltered excitement and pleasure was more than a little contagious.

Then, without warning, Ivan grabbed Yao's ungloved hand and pulled him into a new dance, taking slow, graceful long-steps around the surprised Asian. Twirling around, Ivan faced Yao, purple eyes meeting brown eyes, and he held out his hand again in question. Yao hesitated, but when he saw the innocent smile on Russia's face, something inside him began to cave. With a tiny nod and pink tinting his cheeks, Yao gently held Ivan's hand.

Grinning, Ivan pulled him in, holding Yao's hand in the air, and spun him around as if Yao were a girl. Before the confused China could ask what was going on, Russia grabbed his hand again and began to prance around in a circle. So as not to disappoint him, Yao complied and tried to copy Ivan's movements.

Neither of them shared a word as they danced together in the snow, no matter how enthusiastically or calmly they moved. With Yao's quick learning abilities, he soon found himself dancing in perfect time with Russia. In fluid motion the two of them moved, two parts of the same body, two halves of the same whole. Although there was no music to accompany them, if they listened hard enough, the boys could hear the other's heartbeat on their breath, the whistling wind in the trees, and the gentle snow twinkling on the ground.

They danced in eloquent silence.

The more the two of them danced together, the more Ivan felt oddly… _attached_ to Yao. He didn't want to stop dancing. He wanted Yao to stay with him, to complete his dance forever.

_No_, Ivan corrected himself,_ it's not my dance anymore. It's _our _dance now._

"Ivan!"

At the female voice, the silence shattered, and the careful balance between Yao and Ivan shifted. When Ivan stopped to look in the direction of the call, Yao ceased his dancing too. Puzzled, China asked, "Who was that?"

"Ukraine, da. My big sister."

"Oh…" Yao sighed. His brown eyes were shimmering a little, and he began to sniffle. Before Ivan could ask what was wrong, China continued, "Does that mean you have to leave, aru?"

Ivan looked at the ground. He felt torn. He didn't want to leave Yao, but he couldn't leave his sister, either. Judging by the shadows stretching on the snow, it was getting close to sunset. Something clinched in his chest as he breathed, "Da… I must go."

Yao nodded, his expression unreadable. "I understand, aru. Goodbye, Ivan."

China turned around to leave, holding his hands together and trudging back to the south. Ivan watched him take a few steps. Something didn't feel right, as if Ivan were forgetting something… something important.

"W-wait!"

Yao snapped his head around, brown eyes wide with surprise. Ivan ran over to him, panting, and looked him directly in the eye.

He grinned. "Thanks for dancing with me, da."

With a smile threatening to break on Yao's face, he responded, "Thank you. It was… nice, dancing with you too, aru."

"_Ivan!_ Where are you?_"_

"C-coming!" Ivan called over his shoulder. Even through the snow, he could see the faint silhouette of his sister looking for him. Turning back to Yao, he said, "Can I see you again sometime? I would love to dance with you more, da!"

"That would be nice, aru," Yao said. His eyes were still glittering with an almost damp quality to them. Ivan couldn't tell if Yao was crying or not.

"Da," Ivan whispered. When Yao turned around for the second time, Ivan began to walk towards Ukraine, who was still calling out for him to come. Even after all that, Ivan didn't feel like he did something he should have.

He stopped and bit his lip. Unable to take it anymore, he ran towards Yao and gave him a big hug from behind.

"Hhh—aru?"

Yao's rigidness vanished when he realized what was happening. Ivan could feel him going limp and uncertain in his arms. He didn't want Yao to go, but he had to let him leave. Stifling back tears, Russia whimpered, "Goodbye, Yao. I'll miss you, da."

"I… aru…."

"Ivan!"

At that moment, Ukraine appeared over the small hill and pulled Ivan away from Yao, hugging him as if he had come back from the dead. While Ivan choked in her grasp, Ukraine sobbed, "Where have you been, Ivan? Natalia and I have been so worried about you!"

Barely pausing to look at Yao, Ukraine grabbed Ivan's hand and started guiding him back towards their house. "What were you doing out here that took you so long? I spent the last half-hour trying to find you!"

"I was saying goodbye to a friend," Ivan answered, not letting his frustration show.

"That's nice, now let's go."

Ivan disapproved of Ukraine's unwillingness to listen to his answer even though she had asked him for one, but he decided not to frown at her. _It must be a sister thing,_ he figured. As Ukraine took him down the hill, Ivan looked over his shoulder. Yao was watching him leave with sadness in his eyes, as if he didn't want their dancing to end either.

With a small smile, Ivan's purple eyes began to tear up again. "Do svidaniâ, Yao!" he called, "I'll see you again—I promise!"

As if being snapped out of his thoughts, Yao stuttered, waving, "Goodbye! I'll miss you, aru!"

_I'll miss you too, comrade. Until we meet again._

And on that thought, Yao vanished from sight as the snow picked up, separating the two halves once more.

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_This story was maybe two or three times as long as I originally envisioned, but oh well—if you made it this far, then I hope you liked it!_

_I'm tentatively thinking of continuing this. Would you like to see more? If so, this would be probably the prologue for a story that takes place when Russia and China are older. It wouldn't be a terribly long fic, but I have a plot in mind. On the other hand, this piece works well as a oneshot, too._

_Feedback is appreciated. Have a good day!_


	2. Changes in Atmosphere

_Thank you guys so much for the reviews! It means a lot that you want me to continue. I'll surely think about it._

_Wait… what's this? I already wrote a continuation? Oh. Well, enjoy the story, I guess. This time, we're cutting to when the nations are their canon ages, and get a little overview of what happened in between the prologue and the present. We also get to meet the countries in the G8! Exciting, no?  
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_Namaste._

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Changes in Atmosphere

Under the faint shade of a bare tree, Ivan absentmindedly sighed. The first hints of spring usually budded hope for warmth in his heart, but for once he found it more depressing than happy. Letting out a deep breath through his nose, Russia slowly blinked his violet eyes. His sad smile transparently masked the terrible crack that ran through his mind and his heart.

_Some nations undergo unfortunate times, but I seem to simply have an unfortunate life._

Every day, Russia would wake up feeling sore and battered. The many revolutions, civil wars, and conflicts that arose from his people had taken their toll on the nation. To this day, Ivan could not see what he had done wrong. He gave them great expanses of land, and supplied them with the resources for a good life. What more could they ask of him? Every citizen was like a child to him, and when they fought, it tore him apart. The worst, he recalled, was the Bloody Sunday incident in 1905, when eventually Ivan himself came upon his people and had to teach them a lesson. In his own words, _he didn't want children that wouldn't play nice._ Who would? But they were his, and he needed to show them who was boss.

His actions that day had followed him throughout the last century, causing other nations to hate and fear him. Many of them avoided him at all possible costs. He remembered rude little America once asking him, "Dude, does your own big _sister_ love you anymore?"

Unfortunately, Ivan wasn't sure how to answer that. Ukraine would run away from him whenever they met each other casually, crying enough tears to rival Niagara Falls and leaving her brother with a broken heart, wondering what he might have done wrong. If he didn't know what was upsetting her, how could he hope to fix it? To ever see his sister smile at him again, and tell him that she loved him?

When Russia mourned over the unexplained loss of his elder sister's affections, his little sister would go to comfort him, but her presence only made things worse. Over the years, Ivan saw that Belarus was growing a rather unhealthy obsession with him to the point where he could no longer reciprocate her feelings. She loved him way beyond what was comfortable for him and for siblings in general. Her sharp nails had left many large claw-marks on his room's door, and once she even succeeded in pulling out his _doorknob_ in a psychopathic episode. The fact that she constantly begged to marry him so they could be together forever made Russia feel scared, sick, and strangely sad all at the same time.

Two sisters on completely opposite sides of the spectrum: one who avoids Ivan at all costs, and one who has grown obsessed with his presence. Obviously, the perfect model for brother-sister relationships everywhere.

With his sisters incapable of stabilizing their connection with Russia, Ivan found himself depressed whenever either of them crossed his mind. For some reason, though, neither of their losses felt quite as heavy as a third person he had grown away from.

China.

For several centuries, the two of them were the closest of friends. Though neither Russia's sisters nor China's brothers knew about their companionship, they would frequently sneak away from home to see each other. When the weather was nice, the pair would meet on the border of their countries to play and dance together. Even when the two were both grown men, and Ivan had become the tallest and physically strongest country on Earth, they would suddenly become little kids in each other's presence. They had grown so close that even after Bloody Sunday, Yao stuck to his guns and stayed with Ivan, although he knew the experience had somewhat unbalanced Russia's already-frail grasp of sanity.

That is, until the leaders of their countries began to diverge ideologically. China had seen the signs of something terrible early, when the Russians and Chinese disputed over borders, but it wasn't until much later that Russia saw the weight of what was happening. The Sino-Soviet Split occurred, and the two countries were divided by the hate and distrust of their people. Eventually Yao himself began to grow wary of Ivan and his attempts to rekindle the bond they had formed those many years ago.

"_Yao-Yao, listen to me—."_

"_I can't, aru. I can't see you anymore. You're scary. You scare me!"_

"_But… but Yao…."_

"_Don't call me that! I am the People's Republic of China, and you are the Russian Federation. Our leaders distrust each other. Our PEOPLE distrust each other. Don't you get it, aru? We can't be friends anymore."_

"_We might be countries, but that doesn't mean we don't have feelings. You are my comrade, Yao, whether our people like it or not. I don't—."_

"_You aren't listening to me!"_

"_You aren't making sense!"_

"_I'm making complete sense, Russia. It's you who's not making sense of what _I'm_ saying."_

"_Why do you insist on us calling each other by our national titles? To me, you are Yao—and to you, I am Ivan. Does our friendship mean nothing to you?"_

"_I have to do what's best for my people, aru. I'm sorry."_

"_But I—."_

_Yao burst into tears. "Go away! I never want to see you again, aru!" Without another word, China ran from Ivan as fast as he possibly could, not even pausing to look back and see the utter heartbreak in his former friend's eyes._

Russia sighed at the memory, smiling only to hide the small tears that were threatening to form. They had seen each other since, of course, at the conferences that were held among the Allies, but they rarely gave each other more than a passing glance or a brief hello when their eyes met. Those wonderful eyes… Russia missed looking at those beautiful, earthy-brown orbs that reminded him of warm fireplaces and sunrises over autumn trees. In all truth, it took every shred of Ivan's self-restraint to not grab Yao, pull him into an embrace, and cry all over his shoulder, begging for forgiveness.

Naturally, that wouldn't be the most _sophisticated_ approach, but had it not been for his teetering reputation, that would have been Ivan's first idea.

"R-R-R-Russia, s-s-sir?"

Ivan looked up at the familiar trembling voice. A fearful Lithuania, shivering in his forest-green military clothes, gave the much-larger country a terrified smile and stuttered, "R-r-remember that there's a G8 meeting l-later today. You should get r-ready to go soon, s-s-sir."

With a coarse accent, Ivan asked, "How come, Liet? It's still rather early, don't you think?"

"Better early than late, sir," he responded hastily, giving Russia the most forced smile the country had ever seen in his life. Ivan raised an eyebrow. Sometimes it honestly felt like Lithuania was trying to get _rid_ of him or something. After a moment of pondering, he pushed that thought aside. They had been partners for years, so surely that was ridiculous.

Deciding to humor the scared country, Russia smiled wider and said, "Da, I suppose you're right. I will go inside and gather my essential papers and passport."

He stood up, towering high at six feet tall. Picking up his faucet pipe (figuring it might come in handy if things went out of control like it usually did), he took off towards his house. As he passed, Ivan sent chills down Lithuania's spine—awed by his mighty presence, undoubtedly. When he got home, he opened the door, startling a little Latvia who was touching one of Russia's jackets only moments ago. Before Ivan could politely ask why, the young country turned tail and ran to his room. What a silly boy! Russia chuckled at his childishness.

"Estonia," Ivan called, "Do you know where my passport is?"

A slightly shaky Estonia came out from the kitchen, carrying with him a briefcase and a tiny blue booklet. Ivan could tell that he was trying to look as level-headed as possible, but it wasn't working as well as it usually did. "R-right here, Mr. Russia, sir."

Normally, Ivan would have called Estonia out for being too formal and requested he refer to him as 'Mr. Braginski' instead, but the Baltic nations seemed set on calling him Russia. In all truth, he didn't really mind being addressed in a formal fashion every once in a while, but the only one to call him by his real name in these past years was his little sister, Belarus—or Natalia, as he called her. For a brief moment, he imagined China saying his name. _Ivan Braginski._ Oh, how he missed Yao's voice.

Uncomfortable with the spacey look on Russia's face, Estonia added hesitantly, "I… I also have your important files in the briefcase. I even organized them alphabetically for you!"

Forcing himself out of his Yao-induced fantasy, Ivan smiled and said, "Oh, thank you! You didn't have to do that, you know."

"Really? I can un-organize them if you want! I'm sorry, sir."

"No, not at all!" Russia laughed at the fearful look on Estonia's face. Couldn't he see that he meant no hard feelings? "You're too kind, comrade. Really, the help is much appreciated."

The bespectacled country gave him an awkward smile. "Thank you, sir."

"Da. I trust you and Lithuania will take care of our home while I am gone, yes? Make sure that little Latvia doesn't get into too much trouble—cute as he is, I would much prefer he doesn't send my everyday clothes to a museum again on an off assumption that they have historical value."

"R-right, Mr. Russia."

Russia smiled at him in spite of his irritation of constantly having 'Mr.' added before his country title. With a curt nod, the tall nation took the briefcase and passport from Estonia's hands and strolled out the door. As he left the house, he could have sworn he heard a collected sigh of relief from the Baltic trio. Though many times he tried to convince himself that they were so nervous in his presence out of respect, he knew that it was more out of fear than anything else. With a sad grunt, Ivan put the thoughts aside as he headed towards the airport.

_~ Two Halves of a Whole ~_

"Did you just grope me?"

"Bloody HELL, Francis, stay away from Alfred!"

"But… but _ma chère Angleterre_—"

"Don't shove any of your smooth French talk down my throat, you slimy excuse for a frog!"

Someone laughed as if he had just heard the single most funny joke in the history of mankind. "Oh Arthur, you're so silly! France isn't a toad—he's a country!"

"…Goodness, America, you're such a gi—."

Russia smiled bemusedly at the familiar pattern of conversation he heard coming from the central room. He, along with America, England, and France, were the Allies that attended the G8 meetings. The Axis Powers, Germany, Italy (the airheaded northern one, if he recalled correctly), and Japan would also join them, in spite of the recent wars. Ivan immediately felt his mood sour when he recalled that China, the last member of the Allies, was not among the G8. Rather, the un-America-like America look-alike, Canada, took the final seat at the meetings. It was not as if Russia had a problem with 'Matvey'—they were on good terms, and occasionally had the pleasure of playing a game of hockey together—but he never felt the same sort of spark that lit his heart when he used to do things with Yao, and the lack of China's presence in the G8 bothered him.

He stood outside the door for a while, taking in the scene before heading to his chair. As was a typical Allies argument, England was right in the middle of a debate between America and France over whether or not France groped the young nation. If he had, Ivan would not have been surprised in the least—to put it nicely, if plastic spoons were considered sexy, he knew for a _fact_ that Francis would grope them too somehow, even though there are no real regions to grope on silverware. Italy was blathering about some sort of pasta to an obviously bored and irritated Germany, while Japan kept quietly to himself. Canada didn't appear to be in his chair, though Russia knew that the country had the uncanny ability to hide in plain sight, or perhaps even turn invisible altogether, so he couldn't assume that the other arctic nation wasn't attending this meeting.

"…So I will make tons of fresh, cheesy pasta when we get home, Ludwig!" Italy beamed, babbling happily to Germany, "_mi fratello_ will be out with Spain, so you won't have to worry about him cussing you out, _ve~_!"

"_Mein Gott_," Germany groaned, "Why can't Italy be quiet for one five-hundredth of a second?"

Japan smartly decided not to answer. Instead, he turned to look at the towering country in the doorway. Standing up and bowing politely, the Asian nation greeted, "Good afternoon, Russia-san."

Pleased to be acknowledged, Russia locked his purple eyes on Japan and replied, "Privet, comrade."

"Russia's here?" America asked. His attention snapped to Ivan, who put on a dangerous smile. Russia noticed Alfred wither a little, which amused him greatly. Striking America's paranoia was always fun. "Damn. I was kind of hoping his plane crashed."

Typical.

"Likewise, Amerika," Russia grinned, hardening the 'c' sound in Alfred's country title. The priceless face the self-proclaimed hero would give him whenever he said his name like that made it too hard to resist. "But it would appear that we are both very much here and very much alive."

"Don't pick on Ivan like that," a tiny voice said. Russia could only faintly see the outline of Canada in one of the chairs, making him wonder once again about the country's supposed superpowers. "He didn't do anything wrong!"

America gave Canada an odd look. "Who are you?"

"Matthew. You know, your _brother._"

"Oh—hi, Canada!"

Germany slapped a hand to his forehead. "This is growing tedious," he muttered, "You realize I have better things to do than be here right now, ja? Can we not just _start_ the meeting so we don't proceed to waste everyone's valuable time?"

"_Thank_ you," England sighed. As Russia took a seat and pulled out his important papers and a notepad, the British man stepped towards a chalkboard which appeared to have a cutesy cartoon representation of all the G8 countries except Canada on the board.

Clearing his throat, Arthur declared, "Today's G8 meeting shall be officially conducted by Alfred F. Jones, more formally known as the United States of America, on the subject of global energy."

Russia blinked. This was the same subject that was held last time when France conducted the meeting. By the look on some of the others' faces, he could tell they were thinking the same thing.

"Aww, Iggy," America whined, "France already blathered endlessly about the global energy crisis _last_ time. Can we PLEASE discuss something different?"

England flashed him a look that Russia could clearly read as 'If you call me "Iggy" again, I will force-feed you my nasty British scones.' America, on the other hand, remained as oblivious as ever, rolling his eyes and moving toward the chalkboard. With some difficulty maintaining his respectful appearance, England stuck his nose in the air and half-stomped, half-walked to his own chair.

"Okay, dudes, we're gonna discuss something much more important than 'global energy' bullcrap," Alfred declared. "Since _I'm_ running the meeting, I want us to talk about something else. You see, everyone here is being a total stick in the mud, and that's SO not cool. Hell, even Italy has been having these freaky, uncharacteristic moments of seriousness lately. So I decided that all of us should get together sometime for a good, old-fashioned talent show to loosen us up a little!"

Ivan tilted his head, his expression unchanged. A contest to see who can do the best or most interesting things on a stage in front of a ton of other countries? Normally he would have been irritated at Alfred for being an idiot and straying off subject, but this was _definitely_ more interesting than the global energy topic.

Most of the others, conversely, were not as amused.

"A what?" Germany deadpanned.

"_Ve~_ a talent show! Germany, this would be so much fun! We should do something together! Maybe we can cook pasta or paint a picture or sing or—."

England nearly choked on his tea. Regaining his composure, he snarled, "Alfred, of all the bloody useless ideas, this has to be the single most idiotic thing you have ever suggested. How, exactly, will a TALENT SHOW affect the global energy crisis!"

"Since I'm the hero, I need to save this world from becoming boring and sucky and crap like that." America stuck out his tongue. "Jesus, Arthur, grow a funny bone. Everyone's gotta cut loose and be creative sometimes, and to be honest, the 'crisis' that you guys are so worked up about is getting way better now, so what's the point of talking old news? We need to lighten the mood!"

Canada sighed a little and whispered, "Oh, Alfred… well, I guess it would be fun, eh, Kuwaro?"

"Who are you?" his pet polar bear asked.

"I'm Canada, the guy who feeds you."

America pouted. "Man, doesn't ANYBODY agree with me?"

Russia carefully considered it. America was right, in a sense—the energy situation was easing back to normal, and there really was no harm in a little fun every once in a while. Though he was not fond of the country, he did have a point. Everyone _was_ becoming, as he so elegantly worded it, a 'grumpy old man.' The idea of participating didn't sound very attractive, and watching other nations embarrass themselves on stage didn't either, but he figured that he should support this idea even if he didn't attend.

"Hmm," Ivan pondered. He raised a gloved hand and said, grinning broadly, "I agree with you, America."

"Anyone who's _not_ a communist bastard?" America added.

Russia kept smiling at him, aware that the host of this meeting was utterly terrified of him no matter how much said he was a hero. It always amused Ivan the way America would twitch with fear when he looked him in the eye. He usually didn't try to scare other countries intentionally, but America was the exception—it was far too funny.

"_Ve~_ I'm with you, America! I can cook things for the show. Maybe some pasta, or pizza, or—."

"I am not terribly familiar with Western games such as 'talent shows'," Japan said, "but I am willing to give it a try."

France chuckled, "Oh, _s'il vous plait_, there's no point in holding a talent show! I'm sure you all know that I, sir Francis Bonnefoy, am the most talented of you all!" He shot a teasing look at England, who didn't miss it and immediately took offense.

"Is that a challenge?" Arthur snarled.

America snickered. "Sounds like one to me!"

England reluctantly caved in, "Very well. Talent show it is." He scooted out of his chair and stormed out of the room. Ivan was aware that the gentlemanly persona Arthur always had was only a façade to try and hide the easily-provoked, angry little British man he really was.

Rubbing his temples so as to avoid exploding with irritation, Germany gave France a look and rumbled, "I assure you that my brother, Prussia, would most likely deny your claim of being the best."

_Prussia._ Lord almighty, he mentioned Prussia. Despite Prussia having the title of "Russia" in his name, he was nothing like Ivan in the least, although he was under Ivan's control for a while. He was loud, boorish, and constantly claimed that he was the nation to invent 'awesomeness.' Russia could frankly see Prussia and America being good friends—they certainly _acted_ similar enough.

America perked up at the mention of Prussia. "Yeah… yeah! Instead of being a talent show just between the eight of us, what the hell, let's invite other countries to come participate too! We'll go nuts! We gotta tell Spain, Korea, Switzerland, China…"

_China._

At the sound of that name, Russia immediately snapped into his own world. China would be invited to participate. _China would be invited to participate._ Yao, _his_ Yao, could be participating in this.

That. Changes. Everything.

"…So I took the liberty of making a sign-up sheet for whoever wants to be in the show," Ivan caught America saying. "Anyone who wants to participate, feel free to—."

Before Russia could process what he was doing, he flew out of his chair and signed his name on the first available spot.

* * *

**To be continued…**

_Historical accuracy? What's that? I don't think I've ever eaten it before._

_Yeah, forgive me for any historical faults I have. Damn, keeping everyone in-character is brutal, but I gave it a shot. I have a grasp on most of them except, I think, Estonia. Augh, I just can't get him down._

_If you catch any typos or horrible historical faults in the story, please feel free to let me know via PM or review. As usual, feedback is appreciated. Thanks for reading!_

**EDIT:** I forgot to mention that I changed the rating of the story for these next chapters for language, boy/boy romance, and MAYBE mild sexual themes (nothing too outrageous, though). If any of that offends you, discretion is advised. Heh, that made me sound like a real warning label. Pffft. _  
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	3. Uncertainty

_Oooh, I got reviews! That's always a happy thing. Though school started this week, I succeeded in finding time to continue leisurely writing this bizarre little idea of mine._

_An anonymous reviewer _HappyChappyWeirdo_ told me that spelling 'Braginski' with an 'i' would make it Polish rather than Russian. This confused me a bit, and I ended up double-checking an official reference to make sure I've been spelling his last name properly. As it turns out, yes, it's spelled with an 'i' instead of a 'y' or 'iy.' When I read that, I suddenly got the uncanny idea that Ivan and Feliks might be lost cousins or something equally ridiculous. I swear, I laughed so hard my mom asked if I had a temperature._

…_Ahh, I'm digressing. Shoot. Anyway, in this chapter, we get to see what happens after the fact and get a peek at what China's up to. Enjoy~! _

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Uncertainty

It took a good thirty seconds before Ivan could register what he had just done. The whole room had gone silent with his sudden action, and instantly he wished it didn't happen. But there it was—a shaky, hastily-written signature in the Cyrillic alphabet that anyone could identify meant 'Russia.' Next to Ivan himself, America was completely shocked.

"…Sign," he finished hesitantly, giving Russia a weird look. After a moment's pause, he voiced the thoughts of virtually everyone in the room. "Russia, what the fuck?"

…_Well, this is embarrassing._

Thinking quickly, Russia put on an innocent smile and softened his eyes. Though he was blushing out of his own humiliation, Ivan managed to cheerfully lie, "I apologize, Amerika. I was much too excited to wait! Talent shows are exciting, da? Therefore, I am excited."

Alfred obviously took the bashful look on Ivan's face the wrong way, because he gave him an appalled expression and swiftly backed away from the much taller country. Up against the wall and gulping painfully, America stuttered, "R-really now?"

Russia suppressed a relieved sigh._ At least he did not call me out for the use of circular logic._ He gave a nod. "Da."

Silently stepping forward, Canada took the pen from Russia's hand and signed his own name on the sheet. "I didn't know you liked talent shows!" he shouted in his whisper of a voice. "Is there anything you're planning on doing up there?"

"I—."

"Yeah," America laughed, shaking off his discomfort, "I mean, what the hell CAN you do? Crush a puppy beneath your boots? Bite the head off a cow? Pronounce your nasty-ass language?"

Ivan gave him a cold smile. He didn't want anyone to know that on the inside he was shivering and scared and hateful that ink was impossible to erase without whiteout. In all honesty, he didn't want to perform _anything_ on a stage _ever_. Though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, he was never comfortable in front of a crowd—especially not a crowd of people he knew. Absentmindedly, he reached for the pipe that hung docilely at his side.

Ignoring America, Russia grinned darkly in Canada's direction and responded, "Of course, comrade Matvey. I would not dare sign this if I did not know what I was doing."

Lies.

Matthew shivered at the eye-contact with Russia. Ivan truly hoped it was out of a "shared" excitement for the talent show instead of the ominous evil aura that emanated off of him whenever he was upset, but by the flushed expression on Canada's face, he sadly realized it had to be the latter. Was he really intimidating enough to have people who marginally _like_ him suddenly fear him when he was not in a good mood? Interestingly, what saddened him the most about that is that this blow felt like just another stab to his heart. He had certainly been hit there before.

In order to break up the awkwardness of the present situation, Ivan cleared his throat and nonchalantly sighed, taking a look at the clock, "My, my, it seems I should get going. If I am not home soon, my boss will surely be upset with me. Good day."

Of course, that was a lie as well. If he had wanted, Russia could have stayed for several weeks without any worries with the exception of doing something one might find unseemly in America's country (as the G8 meeting was held there). But Ivan was so ashamed at his impulsive behavior and concerned over what to do that he wouldn't have stayed even if he was paid eighty billion rubles.

As he left, he could hear the conversation resume, complete with Italy blathering on how much fun it would be to do stuff with Germany and France going on a soliloquy on how ravishing he will look underneath stage lights. Passing by England (and consequently terrifying him), Russia could only dejectedly sigh. _At least things can't get any worse._

At that moment, his cell phone rang. When he stepped out the front door, he checked the caller ID. Figuring it could be important, he opened it. "Privet, Latvia. What's going on?"

In his static voice over the phone, Latvia spluttered,_ "G-greetings Russia, sir. L-L-Lithuania said that I should t-t-tell you that Belarus dropped by for a surprise v-v-visit. She's here right now!"_

There was an awkward silence.

"…_Sir?"_

"Ah, дерьмо."

_~ Two Halves of a Whole ~_

Surrounded by mist, China shivered in the cold. With the blurred scenery obstructing his view of the world, he honestly had no clue as to where he was, how he got there, what his purpose for being here meant. Only that there was a voice, a deep, low, beautiful voice, that filled the air with an enchanting aura of magic and mystery. _Where is it coming from?_ Yao thought. _Where do I go?_

He looked at the ground. Bitter weeds sporting thorns plagued the landscape, curling malevolently to the sky as if they had a mind of their own. At China's gaze, some of the weeds on the ground moved to reveal small, scattered spots where he could place his feet without harming himself. He shuddered. Creepy. This place seemed so cold. So eerie. So… familiar? That surprised Yao. _This place is familiar._ He hesitated before the sea of spines, unsure whether or not to take a chance and see where this path led. Placing a cautious foot forward, China instantly heard the voice grow louder to his ears. That sound. It compelled him, like a light would a moth, and before he could stop himself he began to walk towards the source.

The arrangement of the patches on ground made it so that Yao found himself turning his body and moving slowly in time to the rhythmic chant he was so drawn to, avoiding the overhangs of thorns as he did so. With a chill running down his spine, China found himself trying to remember. This song was as familiar as this landscape: he had been here before, he had heard this before, but what and where, he could not tell.

It was beginning to frustrate him.

Even, somehow, the way he moved seemed to be tickling a memory that lay hidden in his mind. He was rising and falling in his movements to avoid being pricked by the spikes. The weight of his body moved from his heel, to the front of his foot, and then lowering down into a normal stance. Left foot change. Right foot change. Box step. With a shudder, China suddenly recognized what he was doing.

_I'm dancing the waltz?_

The fog cleared up a little, and suddenly Yao found himself at the opening to a clearing. Snow was skating gracefully to the ground as it swirled up again, turning the thorn forest behind China into winter trees. The song had stopped at this time, and the country found someone holding out a hand to him. It was wrapped in a dark gray glove, worn and faded of color after many years of use. Immediately recognizing it, Yao turned towards the eyes of the man this hand belonged to.

Haunting violet, like he always remembered.

That feeling came to him again. Though China could never place what it meant, it would occur whenever he saw him. A fluttering warmth in his stomach that would quickly spread to his cheeks and soften his eyes and gently turn his neutral expression to a smile. With a cautious hand, Yao reached for him…

"WAKEY WAKEY YAO!"

Catapulting from bed, China hit his head hard on the banister over his mattress, making him grunt in pain. _Two seconds awake, and already I have a headache. Fantastic._ He glowered at the source of the sound, fully aware of who dared to wake him ludicrously early at… eight thirty in the morning? With a groan, Yao remembered that he had stayed up late the previous night for… personal reasons. Personal reasons he hoped neither of his brothers would ever find out.

From the end of the bed, his youngest brother, Korea, was bouncing up and down in his baggy blue and white robe, with his long hair curl bopping the same way. He wore a humongous smile on his face at seeing China awaken.

"Yay! Yao is up! Now let's go make some breakfast—Kiku came back from the G8 and is already eating downstairs."

"Im Yong Soo, do you realize how late I stood up last night? Make your own breakfast, aru. And don't call me Yao—it's disrespectful. You should address me as China from now on, and Kiku as Japan."

Korea pouted. "But—but you're my brother! And if you can call me 'Yong Soo', then why can't I call you 'Yao?' You're confusing me!"

"That's different, aru," China snarled. "I'm older than you."

"Hmph." Yong Soo pondered for a second, trying to come up with a retort. Without any luck, he decided to address the other issue. "Do you _really_ think it's a good idea to have me cook? Remember what happened last time?"

Recalling the previous week's kitchen disaster that involved fire, soy sauce, and a raging panda, China immediately filed Korea as someone who should never set foot in the kitchen again. He sat up in bed, his long hair down from its usual ponytail and feeling his headache come back in full force. "Fine, aru, I'll cook your breakfast. Dear God."

"YES! Thanks, Yao! You're the best ever!" China was about to tell him not to call him that when Yong Soo ran out of the room, happily singing some bouncy Korean techno song that he didn't recognize. He made a mental note to tell him later. First, he definitely needed some tea to clear his mind.

Sluggishly ambling down the stairs, Yao blearily rubbed his eyes to get a better view of the morning household. Japan was in the kitchen washing his dishes, and Korea was tormenting said brother's little dog. Though they did not live with the eldest brother anymore, they would sometimes come to visit for a week or two in the early spring. Kiku looked up from his chores, taking off the hair net that did next to nothing because of how short his hair was.

"Ahh—good morning, China-san!" He called, bowing respectfully at his elder brother. "I bring news from the G8 meeting, if you are interested."

Yao lethargically yawned and poured some of Kiku's preheated water from a kettle to a cup and pulled out a jasmine teabag. After stirring the tea around for a moment and giving a soft stretch, China mumbled, "Hmm? Uhh, yeah. Global energy, right? What's their consensus, aru?"

"America-san changed the topic of conversation on a whim, actually," Japan replied. "He has chosen, rather, to focus on increasing the morale of us countries, most likely to take our minds off of any current problems there might be in our lands."

Inhaling the steam deeply, China took a sip of the tea. With a clearer focus on the world around him, he processed Japan's words. _Morale?_ He tilted his head. "Increasing morale, aru? That's unusual."

"I figured the same thing."

"What's his plan then?"

Japan paused awkwardly, as if he were searching for the right words.

Yong Soo added, "Yeah, America has some pretty damn weird ideas sometimes. Can you actually _believe_ he thinks he has an alien for a friend?"

"Well…"

China ignored Korea and snapped, "Just tell us, aru. Don't beat around the bush."

Sighing, Japan replied, "A talent show."

Yao was so stunned that he nearly spit out his tea. "A _what_, aru?"

"TALENT SHOOOOOW!" Yong Soo whooped. "This'll be so awesome! You know, I invented talent shows, so _I'll_ be the best. Man, I wonder what I should do? Burp the alphabet? Karaoke? Invent something in front of everyone to prove my awesome geniusness?"

Normally, Yao would have told Korea that 'geniusness' wasn't a word, but he was too busy trying to grasp the situation. Really? A talent show? He wasn't much for performing on stages, but it sounded like it could be fun.

"Is it exclusively for the G8, aru, or can other countries join?" China asked.

Japan shook his head. "Anyone can enter."

"Yeah… yeah!" Korea exclaimed. "You should totally enter, Yao! I bet you could build a Chinatown on the stage in, like, two seconds flat. Think of how impressed the judges will be!"

"Very funny, aru. I'm breathless in my laughter."

"It wasn't a joke."

"Thank God."

"If you do not mind, I have a suggestion," Japan interjected. He cleared his throat and gave China a small smile. "Perhaps you should give a demonstration of kung fu. Something that would make European countries gawk at your skill. You can break a rock with your fist, am I correct?"

This was true. Yao had used kung fu before in self-defense and once succeeded in breaking a rock that was thrown at him by a warring country.

"Oh, please," Korea snorted. "He looks so gay when he practices that. It's like the freaky illegitimate love child of karate and ballet or something equally girly."

On that note, Kiku and Yong Soo began to argue over why Yao should or shouldn't do kung fu, but China wasn't listening. At the mention of ballet, his thoughts shifted back to his previous dream. He would never tell anyone, but dancing with Russia helped inspire several of the moves in his set of martial arts.

"_Can I see you again sometime? I would love to dance with you more, da!"_

"_That would be nice, aru."_

Yao felt a twinge in his chest at the memory.

"—okay, China?"

"Hmm?" He jumped, pulled from his fantasy. His eyes locked on Korea, who wore an uncharacteristically sad expression.

"I asked, are you all right? You're crying, man."

The older country blinked his eyes. Sure enough, they were welling with tears, and one of them decided to travel down his face. China scowled mentally. Those memories hurt more than iron through his back. He should know. _I've got to stop thinking about him. Forget Ivan—err, I mean Russia. Forget Russia! He is no longer your concern._

_Right. Easier said than done._ Aloud, he choked back a sob and sniffled, "R-right. I g-g-guess I a-am, ar-ru. G-give me a m-m-m-minute."

Yong Soo and Kiku respectfully stepped aside as Yao stepped towards the back door and headed out into the garden. He looped around to the gate and opened it, its rusty hinges creaking with age. _Maybe a nice walk will clear my mind._

_

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**To be continued…**

_Good lord. I'm like, so horrible at writing China. Someone shoot me, augh. I need to read more strips involving him before I attempt this again._

_More will come up as soon as possible. Any feedback is appreciated! Yes, I made more historical errors. That's just a given at this point. Feel free to highlight them out and laugh at my shame. Laugh, I say! It's good for the heart!_

**EDIT:** Oh God, both England AND China reacted to the talent show by choking on their tea? Jesus Christ, tea must secretly be EVIL. That's the only logical explanation._  
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	4. Rising Tension

_Hello again, everyone!_

_Hmmm… not a lot of comments for the last chapter—but a whole bunch of favorites and watches! Wow, I'm glad you're all enjoying this so much. School has got me really busy, but I decided to roll up my sleeves and give this a good go this morning. It's probably rushed and crappy but it will hopefully flow well with the story._

_Also: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME! It's tomorrow, on September 5__th__. Now it's quite literally a year and a day before I'll be old enough to get my driver's license. Huzzah!_

_Anyway, enjoy the story. We'll get to see how the visit with Natalia goes this time around. Have fun._

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Rising Tension

Russia hovered uncomfortably outside his own front door, debating in his head whether to go inside and face Belarus or run away, change his name, and move to that deserted island the Axis Powers were stuck on for so long. It was not that he didn't love Natalia and wish the best for her—it was just that he could not possibly love her the way she had grown to love him. The cold air of the early morning was shrouded with mist so thick that a fire would die in it immediately upon being lit. As used as he was to the cold, Ivan found himself shivering, partly from dread and partly from the weather. He couldn't stay out here much longer, and he yearned for the warmth of his fireplace.

"Проклятый," he cursed quietly, shaking his head. _What is wrong with me? My own _sister_ is coming to visit. _True, she was stubborn. True, she scared the daylights out of him. True, she wanted to drag Ivan to the nearest Russian Orthodox church and have them married while Russia was chained and had duct-tape over his mouth so there would be no possible escape. Even so, family is family.

_Right?_

Right.

But that still didn't stop Ivan from pulling out his keys with hands so shaky that one could swear there was an earthquake going on in another part of his country. With a soft gulp, he placed the key in the keyhole and turned it, an ominous click sealing his fate.

"I'm home!"

A trembling Lithuania rushed to the door, eyes wide with panic. "W-w-welcome home, Mr. Russia, sir."

_Why am I always MISTER Russia? I am simply Ivan, or at least Mr. Braginski. _Ignoring his minor irritation as being addressed too formally by a 'friend' yet again, Ivan gave Lithuania a false smile, trying to look eager to see his _darling_ sister. "Privet, Lithuania. I heard from Latvia that my sister has come to visit. Where is she?"

"IVAN!"

With an impact like a club to the stomach, Russia stumbled backwards at the sudden force, the wind beaten out of him. His head thudding painfully against the door, Ivan grimaced, "Oww—проклятый!"

"Watch your language, brother," an overly-clingy Natalia hissed in a scolding fashion. She looked up at Russia with cold, violet-blue eyes, her lips curled in a dark, cruel, and undeniably creepy smile. Sadly, Ivan knew that he looked the same way when he was angry. _It would seem I have had more influence on little Natalia than I expected._

Not good.

In his heart of hearts, Ivan thought he was a good person, but he must have been doing something wrong if everyone under the sun, including his older sister and best friend, hated and feared him so much. The fact that Belarus was becoming more and more like him was far more worrying than flattering. He did not want anyone to hate her. He knew she was a good person too—tenacious, beautiful, with a fire in her heart and a desire to never give up her dreams.

Yeah… in a bad way.

…

This was awkward. At least, to Russia it was.

Belarus continued, "At any rate, it's wonderful to see you again. Come now, you need not just _stand_ there. Let's go to the kitchen—Estonia promised me he'd make some warm borscht for breakfast, just for the two of us." Before he could protest, Natalia grabbed Ivan's hand in her iron fingers and began forcefully dragging him to the kitchen without even letting him take off his boots first.

Something told Russia that this wasn't going to go very well.

_~ Two Halves of a Whole ~_

This was uncomfortable in every possible meaning of the word. So awkward, in fact, that Russia felt a new word should be invented for how truly discomforting this was. As much as Ivan loved Estonia's borscht, he found it rather difficult to enjoy it when every movement he made was obsessively observed by his psychopathic little sister. They had not said more than a few sentences to each other, and the whole room was quiet except for the ambient noise filtering through the ajar window. He wanted to spark conversation with her, even if only to break his severe unease. He could ask her about her economy. See if she was finally going to spend money on improving her military weapons. But every time he tried to say something, his voice would catch in his throat and only empty air would come out.

After fifteen long minutes of silence and the breakfast settling to a lukewarm temperature, Natalia murmured, "I heard that America will be hosting an international talent show for the countries to perform in. Is this true?"

Thankful for a less-than-uncomfortable topic of conversation, Ivan smiled and replied, "Da. He decided to discuss that idea of his instead of the global energy crisis. England was absolutely furious."

Belarus's expression remained neutral. "I also heard that you rather eagerly signed your name to act in the show. Tell me if this is true—and don't lie. I can tell when you lie."

_So much for it not being uncomfortable._ "I… will not deny this," Russia caved.

Standing up quickly from her chair, Natalia gave Ivan the fierce smile that struck terror to his heart. "You and I should do a double-act! Let's practice something together, so I can prove my worthiness for you underneath the stage lights, with everyone watching… such a romantic notion, don't you agree?"

Russia's mind came to a complete stop. "I… uh…."

"Please, brother. I want to become one with you. I want us to be married, so we may stay united forever. I love you, brother. I love you. We'll get married one day, you and I. You must stay with me. Don't ever leave me!"

"Enough."

Belarus's look instantly darkened as Ivan stood up from his chair. Her words had disgusted and disturbed him, but he did not want to hurt her. Unfortunately, he realized that this had to be the case. The smile had completely slipped off his face, to be replaced with a stern look that one could parallel with Austria's typical expression. "What you are saying is ridiculous," Ivan said, the innocent tone in his voice gone. "I love you, Natalia—but only as a sibling. We are brother and sister, and the idea of marrying you is atrocious to me."

"That may be true, brother, but you, Ukraine, and I are all adoptive siblings. None of us are related by blood. I see no reason to consider this, as you put it, _atrocious._" She spat out the last word venomously, as if it were contaminating her sentence.

"Related or not, I cannot marry you. I do not love you that way, and that is final."

"Is there someone else?" The desperate nation cried, her voice growing more distressed and angry with every word. "Who dares stand in my way? There _is_ someone! I can tell by the look on your face!"

Before his mind could fully process the question, Belarus stormed from the kitchen to the front door that was visible from where Russia sat. "I swear that I will find that person and kill them until they die. I made a promise to myself that I would have you as a husband, and no one will get between us. No one!"

_SLAM._

And she was gone.

Ivan sat alone in the kitchen, wondering what exactly just happened. Natalia's question echoed in his mind like a million war drums playing out of sync. _Is there someone else?_ Love is a strong word, a strong emotion, and Natalia seemed to be mistaking lust and obsession for it. He had love for his siblings (in a purely healthy non-psychotic way, of course), and he surely liked the Baltic trio and Canada as friends.

The real question translated to, in his mind, as "_Is_ there someone else?"

Only one name came to mind.

_Impossible,_ Russia shook it off. _Simply impossible. I am not sure if that feeling around him can even dare be called love. I indeed care for him, but love should be mutual. He does not care for me anymore._

_That doesn't stop me from missing him, though._ Ivan gave a depressed sigh, leaning back in his chair and placing his feet on the table. _I must find a way to get Yao out of my head._

"Russia, sir?"

He gave a hovering Estonia a transparent smile. "Yes, comrade?"

"A letter came for you in the mail, sir. It's sealed with an official stamp that appears to be some kind of predatory bird." The country handed Ivan an envelope that was colored suspiciously with red and white stripes, blue stars, and had the words _**God Bless America, Bitches!**_ on the front. Russia smiled wryly, feeling amusement once again towards America's antics. He turned to Estonia and gave him a nod of thanks—signal for the country to respectfully take a few steps back as he read.

Ivan was never the most careful man for opening envelopes, but he figured that he should keep this in its best condition in case he needed a few laughs later. Gently unsealing the cover, he pulled out what appeared to be a bright yellow flyer. As he opened it, a small card also fell out. He picked it up and placed it back on the table, figuring he should give the eye-popping paper a look first.

* * *

_**You're invited to the first ever international talent show for countries!**_

_Everyone, gather round, for this spectacular spectacle that nobody should miss! Nations from all over the world can come on over and have some fun as we shed a bit of excitement on our boring, uniform lives. Food will be provided by the Italian brothers and our main entertainment is the talent show, of course! Want to watch other nations do astounding stuff (or maybe fail hilariously)? Want to prove to everyone how cool you can be when you're not sitting around in your office all day doing paperwork? Then get your asses over here and be prepared to have some fun!_

_Whether you decide to participate or not, I, America, one of the greatest goddamn countries on earth, encourage everyone to come and have a great time. The talent show itself will be a contest judged by yours truly, Switzerland, and Germany. If you want to participate, please sign the bottom of the form and return it to me ASAP, okay?_

_**Where:**__ My place, of course! Tony is building a stage and an auditorium and that kind of shit in one of the extra rooms of my hugeass mansion (jealous, huh?). The room'll be like one of those high-school gyms where they host parties or something._

_**Why: **__Because you guys need to cut loose and have fun once in a while._

_**When: **__April 16__th__ at 8 PM EST. It's after tax collection day in my country so I can celebrate without ripping my hair out._

_Anyone who doesn't come is gonna miss a lot of fun, so come over, okay? Also, anyone who already signed up and stuff, I sorta got you permanently in the roster, so don't think about backing out. See ya there!_

_United States of America_

_

* * *

_

Russia looked confusedly at the date. _April 16__th__, huh?_ "Estonia," he mumbled, "could you perhaps tell me what day it is on the calendar?"

"Today is the ninth, sir."

Ivan froze. A week. A _week_. He only had a week to prepare for this show he didn't even want to participate in? He couldn't decide to not show up—it would give his country bad press and the other nations might regard him as a coward. He also, apparently, couldn't request America to switch his name out. _How did I get myself into this mess?_

Estonia noticed the distressed look on Russia's face and began to tremble. "Th-there's also a n-n-note on the table, sir. It f-fell out of the flyer."

Shaking a little, Ivan picked up the second paper.

* * *

_Russia you asshole,_

_I really don't want to let you scare away everyone in the first five minutes. You signed your name on the first slot with your ugly alien letters, but dude… I can't let you go first. I can't not let you participate, either—I have a reputation, you know—so please don't beat the shit out of me with your pipe when I tell you that you'll be the last act of the evening, kay?_

_Also, I have a bet going. Fifty bucks says that your act will be something to show off your strength. Don't disappoint me!_

_

* * *

_

Ivan let out a small relieved sigh. At least he would not be the first nation to humiliate himself onstage with the whole rest of the world watching. Unfortunately, not even this news could settle the nervousness in his stomach. How would he get through this? He had to think of an act, practice it, perfect it in a week, and be able to perform it without getting one of the worst cases of stage fright in history.

He could cave in to America's bet and do something relating to his strength. Lift up a couch with his sisters on it, perhaps, with only one hand. But that felt much too obvious to him, and Russia didn't want to come off as a soulless strong man in front of everyone. What else could he do, though? He didn't have a natural affinity for anything else.

Unless…

He _could_ dance for them.

Russia wanted to dismiss the thought. If there's anything he wasn't, it was a dancing monkey performing in front of a crowd for change. He had a feeling doing that would humiliate him in ways far worse than he liked to imagine. He also hadn't danced in decades, not since the day China chose to stop being his friend. The day China left was the day Ivan felt empty dancing. It never held the same magic since then.

But what else _could_ he do?

Getting up from the table, Russia gave Estonia a less-than-superficial smile and declared, "I shall be out on a walk. Do not attempt to follow me; I will return in the evening at the latest. Inform Latvia and Lithuania as well, but tell no one else what I'm doing—especially not Belarus."

"Yes, sir."

Nodding curtly, Ivan went out to the front door. One thing he could thank Natalia for was for not letting him take off his outdoor clothes when she dragged him in. It saved him time on his walk as he took a direct path to the southeast. He knew exactly where he wanted to go.

* * *

**To be continued…**

_I must be one of the worst writers on the face of the earth. I tried, I really did, and it just came out exactly like I predicted: rushed and crappy. Ffffff—_

_Feel free to give me feedback or corrections in a review or PM. No, seriously. Review, or I'll let Natalia kill you to death. Unless you don't want to, in which case that's okay. The next chapter may be a little late, so I also posted a Hetalia oneshot as a filler of sorts. Updates should eventually become regular, though. Thanks for reading!_


	5. Déjà Vu

_Hello again, everyone!_

_You'll never believe what happened to me on the 9__th__ of September. I was going down to the bottom floor (my school is seven stories tall) of the school for lunch, minding my own business, when suddenly someone ran past me and we very nearly collided. I took a look, and then did a double-take: that person looked exactly like Russia! Someone else ran past me a second or two later that looked like Belarus._

_I died, I was so happy. I followed them and found that there were a few other students cosplaying as France, America, and China. Russia let me wear his scarf and gave me a hug. Best. Lunch period. Ever._

_Anyway, moving on with the story! It appears as if both Russia and China decided to go out on a little walk, no? Well, let's see what happens to them…_

_

* * *

_

Déjà Vu

The air outside was warmer than the day before, but the snow remained about, lulling the landscape to a sweet monotony of quiet white. Particularly out here, in the southeastern regions of his land, there were no houses to break it. No streets. No animals. Everything was simply standstill, as if time had fallen asleep with the earth. The hills Russia walked and the distantly arching trees whispered the memories of his childhood with every solemn step he took.

_My favorite place_, he thought as he entered the flatland encircled by the forest and knolls. He smiled as he remembered when he first saw Yao, the brilliant being of crimson red and glittering gold among the winter grey. _My favorite person,_ Ivan smiled, sadly staring at the bare trees. _He always dressed as if it were spring._

He blinked sorrowfully and shook China out of his head. The real spring was coming quickly to his country, as evidenced by the temperature change. Why think of sad things when such a beautiful time was drawing near?

This realm was just like it was centuries before. Chilled. Still. No one in sight. Light snow had set in to drown out any possible traces of noise.

Perfect.

Russia bent his knees a little, keeping his sole on the ground. Even today, Yao's advice on what to do remained firmly locked in his mind. _"If you practice from this more reasonable height, then it might make that move-set easier, aru. Give it a try."_

"Of course I will," he whispered to himself. "I will always try for you."

With determination in his eyes and a neutral expression, Ivan kicked out his foot. Almost instantly he felt imbalanced, and he rocked perilously forward, sticking out his arms in a fruitless attempt to stabilize himself. Grunting in frustration, Russia landed heavily on the snow-covered ground, his chest colliding painfully with the hard permafrost.

"Идиот," he muttered to himself. _How many decades has it been? Four? Five?_ He could picture himself dancing in his mind as clearly as a photograph, but his muscle memory had grown weak with time. Putting on a thin smile but cursing himself mentally, Ivan concluded that he would have to start with the basics before going back to harder moves.

_Right-foot change._

Russia shifted his foot to the front and back while his other foot attempted to move forward, which resulted in him unceremoniously tripping. This time, however, he caught himself before he landed on the ground. Shakily regaining balance, Ivan shook his head.

_Left-foot change?_

The same.

_Box-step?_

That time he really _did_ land on his back.

Ivan found it hard to maintain one of his lying smiles when this was becoming so irritating. Rattling off a few curses in Russian, the country sat himself up in the snow, glowering hatefully at the ground. If the snow had been conscious, it would have surely melted under his vicious purple gaze.

He took a deep breath. There was no way he would be able to dance when he was so aggravated. Slowly standing himself up again, he started to quietly hum one of his absolute favorite compositions, "Waltz of the Flowers," in the hopes that it would set his mind to dancing again. Russia was no singer, but his deep singing voice added to the atmosphere around him. Closing his eyes, he slowed the song to half-time and started to dance the lead part of the waltz in time with the music. He could feel how awkward and clumsy it was, especially without a follow, but for once, Ivan felt a flicker of warmth in his heart. Even on his own, Russia could recall a small part of what made dancing so magical—its grace, its beauty, its expression. The movements he made grew faster and smoother the more he practiced, and for the first time in what felt like years, a genuine happiness started to grow.

"_You are the best dancer I have ever seen, aru!"_

He truly believed it, too.

_~ Two Halves of a Whole ~_

"Ugh, why is it so cold?" China grumbled, his hands shakily rubbing his shoulders. Though he hadn't been out for long, he was already near the northernmost regions of his territory. Snow was falling in spite of the oncoming warm weather, which easily bothered the country. It was usually much warmer during the early April, but there had been few signs to show it as of late.

This place was heavily forested, and the overcast sky sent dim light through the barren tree's icy fingers. No grass decided to come from its home under the snow, and all the bushes were so blanketed in the white that they appeared more like rocks from a distance.

Yao paused. His crying had long ceased by now, and his head seemed fairly clear. Why walk any further? Korea was probably waiting for him to get home so China could fix him the breakfast he promised. He started to turn around, intent on returning, when something stopped him in his tracks.

"Идиот."

The word sounded much like the English term 'idiot,' but its distinct voice sent Yao into a loop. _That accent._ He snapped his head around with enough force to dizzy a normal human, and he stealthily turned around and snuck through the trees. Something in him had to confirm whether or not his suspicions were correct.

Hiding behind a nearby tree, China looked into the clearing he used to always meet Russia in. Sure enough, the titanic country was there, picking himself up off the ground and brushing some snow off his coat. Yao detected genuine irritation in those magnificent purple eyes as he began to move in ways that were etched in China's 4000-year-old memory. He watched as Ivan stumbled about like a baby deer as he tried to shift his feet, and moments later he fell with a loud grunt. Every cell in Yao's body screamed at him to run over to the country and ask if he was okay, but his strong will held him back. He couldn't do that. They weren't friends. Not anymore.

Besides, the long chain of Russian swear words flying out from the other nation's mouth told him that any disruption would likely end in him being hit with an iron pipe.

Yao shook his head. _What am I doing? I need to go home._ He turned around again and took a few steps forward until a beautifully low hum emerged from the clearing. _Keep going. Keep going._ But for all of China's willpower, he found himself compelled to the voice—the familiar, haunting voice—and he stood watch behind the tree again. This time Russia was dancing alone in the snow, the "Waltz of the Flowers" filling the air with a slow and graceful aura that was only enhanced by his physical movements.

There it was. That feeling again. That warmth that filled every fathom of his being. He still shivered, but no longer of the cold; the awe of watching Ivan dance captivated him ever since he was little, and the familiar feeling of watching him never failed to make him strangely happy inside.

_It's beautiful._

China could see the look on Russia's face, though. His faint smile was as sad as his violet eyes. Yao's grin faded in realization.

_But… he looks so…_

_Lonely._

Just then, Ivan paused in his dancing, holding his hand out in front of him. Yao wasn't directly there, although it looked as if, for a moment, Russia was gesturing him to dance. But Ivan's smile faded entirely and he looked at the ground, a thick mist coming from his mouth as he sighed.

"It is not the same, da."

For the first time in China's life, he thought he saw Russia's eyes well with tears.

"Can't you see how much I miss you, Yao-Yao?"

When he saw a real tear go down Ivan's face, China couldn't take it anymore. Completely disregarding the history that tore them apart, he took a few cautious steps forward and placed a hand on Russia's shoulder.

"I've missed you too, aru."

_~ Two Halves of a Whole ~_

Ivan's first reaction was shock that somebody touched him, but it instantly fled when he looked up to see the one person his mind had been on since the Sino-Soviet Split. His face went through a sea of expressions—first of surprise, then of utter happiness at seeing his friend again, melting down to the depressed smile he had while he was dancing, and then turning overjoyed again. Yao was just as he pictured, in his red and gold shirt and long hair in a ponytail. Those stunning brown eyes that shimmered like rain on a rooftop sent a surge to his heart, making it so loud that Russia was certain China could hear it.

"Y-Yao!" he exclaimed, taking a step closer. Almost instantly, China's eyes grew wide and he took a few paces backward, his pink cheeks illuminated by the snow. It felt almost like a jab in Russia's gut as the memory of Yao telling him that he was afraid of Ivan flooded back. His spirits dropped immediately and he stepped back again, staring at the ground. He was much too shy and depressed to look Yao in the eyes. "I didn't think you were here."

On the other hand, China figured that if he stood too close to Russia, the giant nation could easily hear the pounding of his heart threatening to burst right out of his ribcage. The warmth in his cheeks only increased as Russia spoke. Trying his best not to stutter, the older country replied, "I guess I watched the whole thing, aru. Forgive me for startling you."

"Not at all," Ivan breathed, trying to not let too much of his overwhelming emotions through his voice. He was getting a serious case of déjà vu. "You are always welcome here…." He paused, remembering the other's demand of being called by country title, "…China."

Yao felt a pang of sadness at hearing Russia address him that way. As the memory of the Split returned, China could have stabbed himself with Japan's katana multiple times. At that moment, he longed for nothing more than to hear Ivan call him 'Yao' again—just like he would always do those many decades ago.

Realizing he had yet to respond, China stuttered, "Th-thanks R-R-Russia." As Ivan attempted to make eye-contact with him, he looked down as more heat was applied to his cheeks. "Your dancing is still good, aru, although I think it would be better if you were dancing with a partner. The waltz is meant to be danced by two, yes?"

"Da," Ivan sighed. He gave Yao a warm smile, although his eyes were still damp and sad with his forlorn tears. He said honestly, "In all truth, you are the only other who knows about my dancing. I sincerely doubt anyone else would understand, let alone ask if they wished to dance with _me._"

"Have you danced at all since… you know?" China asked. He had always felt that dancing was something that only he and Ivan could do together, but since he saw Russia doing it all on his own, he felt an odd pain at seeing him in spite of his awe at his movements.

Russia laughed halfheartedly, "Only now. Amerika is hosting a talent show so I figured I should do something I like on the stage, da? However," he added, placing a gloved hand under Yao's chin so that their eyes could meet, "it is not as meaningful or fun to dance by myself."

China tried to shrug off the obvious weight that Ivan laid on that last comment. "But I thought you had stage fright, aru. Why are you performing?"

"It's… complicated." Ivan shifted uncomfortably on his toes. He didn't want to tell Yao the awkward truth as to why he got wrapped up in the business in the first place. Something told him that it would only make things more tense between the two.

"I see."

Silence.

Ivan bit his lip. A question was begging to form on his lips, but his voice seemed to die in his throat, preventing him from saying a word. He had to convey the meaning somehow, though. From his distance away, Russia held out his hand.

_Would you like to dance?_ his eyes asked.

China's heart sped up. _More than anything._

_

* * *

_

**To be continued...**

_Sorry for the slight delay in posting this—I went to a birthday party earlier and returned home late. I hope you enjoyed! Any comments or feedback is welcome, as always._

_One more thing: I'm sorry to anyone who tried to PM me over the past couple days. I accidentally turned it off when I was fiddling on my account with my new Droid phone. It should be working as normal now.  
_


	6. Love Hurts

_I really should have been doing my chemistry homework instead of writing this, but this is way too much fun. If only the chapters came out better. Indeed, last chapter ended in a cliffhanger. Will China agree to dance? Will love conquer all? Will I stop failing at building tension with series of questions? Let's find out!_

_By the way, this chapter is written extra-special for __**roxett-**__, who's a super-awesome reviewer and (in my humble opinion) an epic friend. I hope that you'll like it in all its emotional messiness!_

_

* * *

_

Love Hurts

It was like something straight out of a fairytale, where a prince would reach out for the hand of a princess. The setting was perfect. The timing was right. With every particle of his being, Yao wanted nothing more than to be with the country that danced into his heart. China hesitated momentarily, cursing his loud heartbeats for muddling his thinking and his common sense so badly. He knew he was about to dance with the one nation that struck terror to his people, but he honestly couldn't care less.

_He's my friend. After all these years, he's still my friend._

A smile formed delicately on his pale face, and he slowly drew his hand up and felt the tips of his fingers brush the old gloves that Russia always wore.

It was in that exact moment that the silence was broken.

"GET AWAY FROM MY BROTHER YOU SOVIET BASTARD!"

Ivan grunted like a beast in pain as Korea burst from the trees and flung him at his chest, taking the larger nation completely by surprise. Yao stumbled back in horror, landing on his rear as his youngest sibling tried to choke Russia by pulling on his scarf.

"Stop it, aru, you're hurting him!"

"Hurting _him?_ I'm saving your life!"

Japan ran out from the forest behind Yong Soo and, upon sight of the chaos, stopped dead in his tracks. "What is going on here?" he asked Ivan, "What are you doing to my brother?"

Russia snarled, unable to form a coherent answer with his breath being taken away by Korea. He was growing weaker without air and fell to his hands and knees. China struggled to yank Yong Soo off of Ivan's back, but his little brother would have none of it. "He's brainwashed Yao!" In an attempt to get China off of him, Korea kicked his oldest brother in the stomach, causing him to fall over, completely winded. Russia grunted, reaching towards Yao, which only caused Korea to yank on his scarf all the harder.

"_Brainwashed? _That's unacceptable!" Kiku hissed. He began to draw out his katana, placing the tip of it before Ivan's nose.

Yao's brain had difficulty registering what was going on. He had landed on his head, and everything he heard sounded like fireworks. The world was blurry and dizzy as if every atom of the landscape had decided to fly free in a chaotic mess of color.

He managed to register the pain in Russia's eyes, though. The anger and the sorrow. The worry. When he met Ivan's eyes, China could practically feel the man's thoughts being transferred directly to his head. _He's worried that I got hurt?_ _The fool! He's the one who's choking and about to be sliced by Kiku's katana._

_Wait… what?_

As Yao's brain registered that Japan had drawn out his sword and was ready to attack Ivan, all his senses kicked back into overdrive. In spite of his dizzying pain, he lunged at Japan, grabbing his sword arm and yanking it backwards. "Don't hurt him! Please, let him go, aru! He didn't do anything to me!"

"You should listen to him."

A new voice. Cold. Harsh. Undeniably female.

Ivan was nearly unconscious due to lack of air, but something had changed dramatically in the scene. Belarus had one foot on her brother's back and one arm around Korea, dagger poised in a cutthroat fashion right next to Yong Soo's neck. Natalia's violet-blue eyes were glinting with a hatred so powerful that it could freeze General Winter to death. The Asian brothers stopped moving entirely, Yao and Kiku locked in place and Yong Soo out of fear for death.

"Put the sword away or your annoying brother gets it."

Japan's dark brown eyes narrowed. China knew it was a rarity for his brother to feel anger, but he could tell that something in Kiku's normally calm demeanor shifted dangerously south. Very slowly, as if it used up every ounce of his willpower, Japan drew the katana back in its sheath. Yao let out a soft sigh of relief.

Belarus nodded. "Good boy. Now," she rumbled, addressing Korea, "let go of big brother's scarf."

Yong Soo immediately dropped it. As soon as he did, Russia took a big, trembling breath and collapsed entirely onto the snow, eyes gently lulling closed. His body came to a complete standstill.

Time stopped for one second. Two.

Mortified, China ran over to Ivan's side, ignoring the horrible pain in his head and gut. "Ivan… Ivan, are you alright? Speak to me, Ivan!" Every sentence grew more and more desperate. No. He couldn't be. Russia couldn't be… oh no. No, no, nonononono. No! That can't be! The tears Yao was hiding earlier poured from his eyes with such force that his head felt more pain than ever before, but he didn't care. He placed an arm around Russia's upper back and rested his head on the crook of his neck, sobbing like a child who lost his father at war.

He didn't care that everyone around him was staring in shock.

He didn't care what his brothers would think.

He didn't even care about how brutally Natalia would murder him for this.

All that was on his mind amidst all the sadness, pain, and heartbreak were the memories of him and Russia as children, dancing together, laughing together, promising they would stay together. "I'm sorry, Ivan. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Yao sniffled, repeating his apology over and over again to the country that lay soundless and still in the snow.

Belarus stepped away from China's youngest brother and drew back her dagger, heading over to the opposite side of Ivan's neck. If possible, her air had grown even colder.

"Ivan?" Korea whispered. Yao looked up from his crying to see the sadness and confusion clouding Korea's eyes. The normally happy and bouncy nation was reduced to silence. He looked towards Japan, who had a similar look on his face. "You… call Russia by his first name?"

Oh, shit.

Countries only called each other by name if they were related or if they were really close friends. In that moment of weakness, Yao had broken the unspoken promise to never reveal his and Russia's old friendship.

Oh, _shit._

"N-no…" China stuttered, finding it more difficult than usual to lie under the circumstances. "I didn't mean to… I… I'm…."

Kiku bowed his head in shame, his expression unreadable. Yao could easily see, however, the hurt in Yong Soo's eyes. His youngest brother looked like he wanted to say something, but he held it back in a rare display of maturity. China had a feeling of what Korea wanted to ask, and was grateful that he decided to hold his tongue around Natalia.

"He's unconscious," Belarus murmured. "Unconscious, but alive. He should be fine after some rest."

In spite of himself, Yao breathed a sigh of relief. A little delirium washed over him, and although he was still crying, China found himself laughing shakily between sobs. "D-did you hear th-that, I-Ivan? Y… You'll be okay!"

He reached over to hug the nation, but Natalia quickly drew her dagger and pointed it at China's chest. "Stay away from him!"

Japan reached for his katana, quietly threatening to draw it. Korea backed away a few paces.

China felt more heartbroken than ever before.

It was worse than when Kiku scarred his back with his katana as he declared his freedom. It was worse than any rise and fall he had ever seen in his empire. It was worse than the Sino-Soviet Split that ate away at his conscious every day.

Seeing Russia lying broken in the snow after nearly dying sent a new wave of realization throughout China. The blushing. The warmth. The desire to always stay by Ivan's side, in good times or bad, in rain or sun. The longing for Russia to reciprocate his feelings. The countless hours China spent every night beating himself up for letting duty get between them.

Yao loved him. Far more than a friend or a brother.

He _loved _him.

And there was nothing he could do to help.

Not a fucking thing.

Japan and Korea approached China in silence. Yong Soo placed a hesitant hand on Yao's shoulder, his eyes damp and sad and glittering with guilt. Kiku grabbed China's hand and motioned for his brothers to follow him. His heart tore completely in two at the sign. He had to go, whether he loved Russia or not.

_Goodbye,_ Yao thought quietly in his head, hoping that the message could somehow be conveyed to the other.

After fifteen minutes or so, when the Asian brothers found themselves safely in China's territory and far away from Belarus, Korea asked, "Yao… why didn't you tell us that you were friends?"

"We would not have thought of you any differently," Japan added. "What I mean to say, China-san, is that we know you were on okay terms for some time, but after the Sino-Soviet Split, we thought that you became enemies of each other. You told us that you hated Russia. So, when we saw you together, it concerned us."

_How can he say that? I could never hate Russia. Never!_

_Not ever. What I said at the Split was a lie. I could never hate Russia. No, no, no…_

"I didn't tell because… well… aru… I don't know… I sort of…."

China stopped mid-sentence and shook his head rapidly in an attempt to clear it, only making the throbbing migraine increase in intensity. Unwanted tears were freshly brewing at his eyes. "I should have told you. I really should have. If I did, then this might not have happened, aru."

"It's my fault," Korea whimpered, looking at the ground guiltily. "I'm the one who attacked him. I'm so sorry, Yao."

Despite his misery, Yao couldn't bring himself to be mad at Yong Soo. He smiled consolingly and rubbed his youngest brother's back. "It's okay, aru. You didn't know, and you acted out of fear for me. For that I'm proud. You're growing up well, Im Yong Soo. Misjudgment happens without proper information, aru. Don't worry about it."

Japan nodded quietly. "I will pray for Russia-san's quick recovery."

"Me too," Korea nodded, putting on a playful smile and gently punching China in the shoulder.

Yao grinned at his brothers. "Thanks, aru. I don't know what I'd do without you." He gave Korea a little hug and flashed a grateful expression at Japan, knowing all-too-well that the middle brother wasn't fond of personal contact.

_You'll get better soon, Ivan. I love you._

_~ Two Halves of a Whole ~_

Natalia kept a careful eye on the three trespassers as they disappeared into the forest. As soon as she was sure they were out of sight, she looked frostily at her brother, who was beginning to show the signs of shallow breathing on his bed of white.

At any other time, she would have been all over him. She would have chased away the invaders with her pure ferocity rather than with stealth. But something had been different this time. Oddly different.

His eyes were different. The way they were locked on China as if he were a solitary light in the darkness.

And then China referred to him by his first name. This wasn't a good sign.

Belarus might have been known amongst the countries for her psychosis, but that didn't make her an idiot. Not remotely. She could piece two and two together.

"Now I know who's been slowly stealing you out of my grasp," she breathed, placing an icy hand on Russia's warm face. Her eyes melted slightly—only slightly—upon seeing her brother so weak. So hurt. She gently tilted his head, only for her eyes to freeze again instantly when she saw tear marks on Ivan's scarf. _That thief's_ tear marks.

"Don't worry, big brother. He won't be in our way for long."

* * *

**To be continued…**

_Dun dun duuuuuun!_

_Holy mother of Jesus Christ, this was an angsty installment, wasn't it? Feel free to throw bricks at me. I probably deserve it for doing that to Ivan and Yao. Yes. I'm an ass. I should get a hat that says "ass" on it so I can have an asshat! Won't that be wonderful?_

_If you have questions, comments, or anything to say, please review or PM me. Thanks for reading!_


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